Spirits of High Charity Chapter 1
by Kalkus
Summary: My original Halo fan-fiction, like Lost Soul, is an on-going story that I'll gradually build up. First-hand experience during the Great Schism, as seen through the eyes of Masa 'Zunik and Nahal, Sangheili and Unggoy, and their varied allies.
1. Streets of High Charity

A white armour-clad Elite staggered down the wrecked alleyway with a depleted carbine grasped in both hands, a Brute's ammunition belt was slung over his right shoulder and around his left hip, some depleted Carbine ammo clips resided in a few of the ammo-containers. Two Red plasma rifles hung from his waist, one each side from a spare strap on the ammo belt slung over him. Two small black handles attached to the outer armour plates of his thighs, his energy swords.

Some of the small residential hubs of Covenant design lay in ruin due to recent skirmishes here. He watched for any signs of the Brute traitors and their allies, behind him trotted a smaller Grunt, he wore black armour, signifying a spec. ops rank, he nervously looked around, a fuel-rod cannon hefted on his shoulder as he quietly trotted after the larger Elite, occasionally muttering things that the Elite himself found amusing, something to think about in this hell-hole. He trotted beside the Elite as the odd pair hid around a corner in the alleyway.

"Where we going Zunik?" His high-pitched voice quietly rung out and was distorted by his respirator.  
The larger Elite stood with his back to the wall, peered around the corner, then replied with a gruff and vaguely annoyed tone. "You asked that many times before." A nervous giggle came from the Grunt, his taller accomplice merely shook his head and sighed. His voice softened "I am sorry Nehal, I hope to see if Rumar bothered to wait for us...at the space port...a distance from here...-are you listening Nehal?"

The Grunt was fiddling with the fuel-rod cannon; a few charges left, his head swivelled around and looked up with wider eyes. "Um-yeah, Zunik be heard, you said 'we go...to space port...yes.' Then you sigh...aaannnd-"  
Zunik interrupted calmly. "Yes, that is what I said, now come on Nehal, we have no time for banter." The Grunt nodded to him, then fiddled some more with the fuel-rod cannon.

He peered around the corner and into the partially destroyed alleyway. He remembered with some anger when High Charity was attacked from inside and outside by separate forces, most of the Elites had either died from un-provoked attacks by the vile scheming Brutes and their lackeys, or killed in action against the heretical Flood monsters, he still bore the small flesh wound on his left arm that had made it's presence much-aware when his shield failed in the worst possible place, right in combat. He had fought down a pack of Flood with his Energy sword, his own Sword given to him when he had reluctantly attained a position in the council. Due to his father's influence, and apparent manipulation of the system.

Not that anybody listened to him then. He knew very well that his father before him was one of the least fanatic of their great kind, he felt more stupid than a Unggoy at the sheer irony. More so than a Grunt, to be precise, (Or Nehal, if you want to be picky). He remembered that it was another 'fellow' councillor's decision to up-seat him, and have him demoted to lead the lowliest of the cannon fodder, 'for the Great Journey's protection!' He eventually rose back to Spec. Ops status due to, not the amount of kills, but strategic brilliance and application. Also including his heavy use of getting the best out of what units were under his command...that was some time ago. He remembered only just months or a year ago when he recruited his first honour guard...

His revere was abruptly interrupted of when Nahal squeaked something out, Zunik sharply turned around and automatically crouched, the pair saw from the corner behind them a few dozen Drones fly nearly overhead, they circled the sky above them, Zunik reasoned that these fast foes may have found them, or were simply acting as a forward squad of scouts. He resisted the temptation to simply snipe them from the air, but that would be a waste of ammo, ammunition that was direly required.

How the foes never saw him and Nahal was a small mystery, they flew away towards where he and Nahal were previously. He nodded to the black ops Grunt, then at the corner, both the pair advanced with almost total silence, they darted around the corner and hugged the walls as best as one could, keeping low. Nahal had no problems with keeping low, he just ran as usually, or trotted, or stumbled with a Fuel-rod cannon hunkered on his shoulder. Take your pick; he still kept a watchful eye out on the far side of the battered and crater-filled street.

Some broken transport vehicles shielded their moving presence; this made the active camouflage non-required for now. The pair made their methodical advance quickly and quietly, aided furthermore by the roaring plasma fire of a destroyed Wraith nearby, on the street's next t-junction. They scooted into an alleyway around the Wraith's burning body.

iSafe for now, Zunik thought, but he knew very well that the holy city and its surrounding hives of artificial dwellings was fast becoming a war zone for the Separatist and Loyalist forces.

And horrific scenes of slaughter, by the Flood. The very thought of those monsters gave him strength from anger, only rivalled by his hatred for the Brute scum and their pathetic thralls, Jackals, the annoying cocky creatures, and those even-more-annoying Drones, he had personally wasted several rounds just to score a head-shot with his now-mostly-depleted Carbine, he would avoid those foes in the future, better anti-aircraft weapons were needed, especially for those small squads of Banshees flying around the districts to the north, just where he had planned to go. He watched their directions, and reasoned that they were not actively hunting him or his accomplice.

The pair advanced through the alleyways, taking irregular turns in this veritable maze to avoid any following men or beasts, each alleyway was a dull similarity to the last, dark, dank, sometimes a corpse was present. More often than not it was a mangled heap of flesh, mostly seared by over-charged bolts. He knew. He stopped Nahal just as they were about to scamper into another alleyway, The Grunt was silent, understanding this immediately. As if on cue, some in-human grumbling occurred, to mark the bestial presence of Brute warriors, a pair of them, complaining by their aggressive sounds. He would have to decide what to do with them.


	2. Streets of High Charity 'continued

Keeping low, the white armour-clad Sangheli narrowed his green eyes

Keeping low, the white armour-clad Sangheili narrowed his green eyes. The creature's head occasionally darted around the corner of the alleyway, and saw the pair of Jiralhanae that seemed to keeping guard of some alleyway – possibly expecting him to have taken another route instead. Yet the fresh smell of death and crude explosive compounds hung in the air in the alleyways of High Charity. The gloriously brightness that was High Charity's artificial sun shone down into the war-torn suburbia. Both seemed to wield something akin to shortened brute-shots, with the occasional spike-grenade attached to their belts. A high-pitched snort occurred not far him, as a smaller Unggoy fought to keep his white respirator mask from clogging up. Sighing near-silently, Masa gently held his near-spent and altered Carbine in one hand as he patted the white backpack that belonged to his smaller comrade.

A re-assuring or helpful gesture that few Sangheili ever seemed to bestow upon a much-smaller creature, but Masa and Nahal were not your typical Sangheili and Unggoy pair. Both had been through many horrors... some that would make even the most jaded Zealot hesitate. Again Masa patted his companion's life-preserving backpack, to clear the building back-log of fluids that had began by a impossible chance-encounter with the wrong side of a gravity hammer. The taller and older Sangheili was surprised to see that Nahal had suffered little from a direct hit from the enraged Jiralhanae's attack. While the energy shields installed in the white-clad Unggoy's armour had saved him...the Fuel-rod cannon wielding Unggoy ihad/i to be blessed by some entity.

Almost grinning as Nahal tried to bat his hand away with a stubby paw, Masa peeked around the corner again, sharp green eyes looking past the debris of collapsed building-parts and the occasional fallen imported vegetation, to see the pair of heavily muscled brutes still nearby. Their scents - even from this distance - was appalling and offensive to his nostrils.

Snarling a silent snarl, he swivelled his lean head back to glance at Nahal, whom had just shook his head after muttering something about 'defective standard' equipment. Granted, Unggoy were not given the best protection compared to the Sangheili, as each proud warrior, even at the most basic rank, had personal shields and strong armour. Unggoy however did not and only wear harnesses designed to supply methane to breath and offered minimal protection during combat.

Nodding to Nahal for a second at most, Masa once again peeked around the corner, with the smaller Unggoy poking his mostly covered head around the corner, below Masa's waistline. Both warriors whipped around to sprint across to another corner in the alleyways, closer to the Jiralhanae pair as a fresh wave of ambient buzzing occurred around a corner behind them.

"Dammed insects..." Masa growled out as he sprinted across the alleyway, keeping low and sticking to cover as much as possible. With Nahal trotting in a fast yet amusingly awkward fashion. Both of the pair crouched as they reached the next corner, the sound of many Yanme'e suddenly became that much closer. Nahal echoed his distaste with a higher-pitched grunt, to the Sangheili's silent and re-assured amusement. Both did their best to become as small and discreet targets as possible, with Nahal having only to subtly trot behind a large piece of debris. The fuel-rod cannon sticking out and over the rock a little, as the small boulder seemed to provide an ad-hoc position to take cover and fire from.

Masa 'Zunikee however, had to settle for pressing his back up against the wall, the barrels of the changed carbine facing up as he looked to where the sound was coming from.

The buzzing sound became ten-fold over where he and his comrade used to be, as did the heart-beats of both Sangheili and Unggoy when the many Yanme'e buzzed several metres above the ground and past the alleyways, at least a dozen pairs of lightly armoured wings flew past the pair. Neither Masa nor Nahal fancied yet another irritating skirmish with the insectoid element of the rotting Covenant. The only re-assuring thought was that neither could tell the details of the swarm, so were at a sufficient distance as well as taking ample cover.

Watching, waiting, Masa 'Zunikee took in deep breaths while remaining practically silent, whereas Nahal was breathing in short gasp-like breaths. This earned the smaller white-clad Separatist a curt glance and a sort of quiet wort-like sound that reminded the Unggoy to control his breathing rate. The Unggoy's red-tinted eyes were wide from start to finish as he watched the swarm of Yanme'e warriors buzz into the distance...

Apparently to the same area that the banshees and other Yanme'e groups were heading to, thought this was, thankfully, away from where the pair desired to go. Waiting for several more seconds, Masa held his awkward crouching position, back pressed to the wall and mandibles wide open to allow him un-interrupted breathing, as he took no chances in revealing his position so quickly. All senses were fully utilised, for Masa did not wish to be discovered nor did Nahal.

For the last time, the white-armoured Sangheili peeked back around the corner, and saw the pair of Jiralhanae sharply turn to growl, and reach for their weapons.

Eyes widening, Masa 'Zunikee fell back into a squat and placed his back against the wall, sending Nahal several rapid head-shakes. A frown overcame Masa's face as he heard the gruntish snorting that he had actually come to recognise as a snicker, and sent Nahal a rather annoyed glance, immediately silencing the Unggoy.

iNot now brother… Not now…/i He mentally sighed, and did not find himself very surprised - at all - that he considered the smaller Unggoy a battle-brother. He and Nahal had been through much, and Masa was /bgreatly/b impressed with Nahal's strength, intelligence and tactical skill. He felt more than just any professional relationship, rather he considered Nahal, of all Unggoy, to be the closest thing to a best friend. That was possibly one reason why his reputation may have taken a slight beating, for the typical Sangheili was probably too narrow-minded to understand why another of their haughty kind wanted to be more associated with the mere and literal grunts, then with a far higher being.

He was about to move back around the corner, when a sudden assault of horrific sounds occurred. Gun-shots and guttural shrieks. Nahal's eyes widened at this. iThe flood… Monstrous beings!/i - Were Masa's thoughts, for the parasite had obviously arrived, whatever bodies put to use to set upon the now-unseen pair of Jiralhanae were relentless, merciless, and took nor gave no quarter…

Contorted cries of agony and senseless howls of insane words came from where the pair of Jiralhanae now fought, prior to being surprise-attacked by what sounded to be a small gang of parasite-controlled beings. A single dull explosion and a thud through the concrete ground permitted itself within the cacophony of mutilated sounds, followed by a fast succession of gun-shots. A few chunks of half-rotten and half-burnt flesh bounced past the corner, making Nahal hunker down behind the relative safety of a chunk of rubble. Neither could even identify bwhat/b to expect the owners of these body-parts used to look like.


End file.
